Parallel
by bluecellphone
Summary: Sylar gets a new ability and unfortunately things get a little messed up. He brings Gabriel and an evil Mohinder in his world...violence, language, noncon included


Sylar worked cautiously, peeling back the layers like one would an onion.

He examined every mark, crease and fold, humming sadistically as his own brain made connections with the visible interlockings of the young man's mind.

Everything around him was a fuzzy shade of maroon, besides where his shock white fingers poked and pulled at bloody matter.

He paused, tilting his head at the noise vibrating from his own throat. Where had he heard that tune before? Ah, yes. Mohinder had been singing it earlier.

A smile threatened Sylar's lips as his index finger dragged over that treasured hot spot on the cerebellum.

Picking up the tune of Tamil song again, he closed his eyes, allowing the ability to fix itself within his own brain. His cranium felt warm, tingling, rejuvenating and mending the matter to perfectly mimic the bloodied mess before him.

His eyes blackened with power while his system shut down and rebooted, red haze in his vision fading away. The room danced, vibrating in a buzz at the sudden surge of new ability tingling through his senses.

This was the best part of the high and so he paused, staying placidly calm, taking in the feeling and storing it in his memory alongside past kills.

A sudden click in his head occurred, like someone had flicked on a light switch. He could finally see in that darkened area of his mind; could finally understand how the boy had worked.

Before rising to his feet he gave the young man a small silent thank you, grazing his fingertips across a pale, bluing cheek. It felt like rebirth every time; felt as though he was using new muscles. And so he stretched.

His shoulders cracked as long arms rose up, neck popping to the side. With a satisfied smirk, Sylar spoke to the lifeless, broken body as if it could still hear him.

"Let's try this, shall we?"

* * *

"Fuck," he breathed out, panting as his mind strained to make the new ability go. Pieces turned, steam wailed, wires connected and sparked, but nothing was happening around him. Not even a flicker or a dim change in his surroundings. 

He looked down at his palms, confused as to why no energy was glowing off of his usual outlets.

"How did you make it work?" Sylar pondered, crouching beside the results of his greed. He shuffled through memories.

This boy had been trailed by him for a week, studied and watched with an intense want of something that he did not possess.

A memory planted itself on the fore of his mind, playing a scene in which the young man stood perfectly still, barely even breathing for a small stretch of time before the ability turned itself on and the boy disappeared. Much, _much_ different from Sylar's usual teeth gritted, fists balled, snarling inducement of power.

"Ah, right. How impatient of me."

He calmed, focused on slowing his heart and limiting the breath entering his lungs, relaxing muscles while slipping into a self-induced euphoria. Sylar thought about the only thing in this God-forsaken world that could calm him – Mohinder's touch. He imagined the Indian massaging careful and infatuated patterns into his skin, bringing him into a state of complete repose.

Without preempt his palms floated upwards like a statuesque deity, unbeknownst to him, for that surely would have quirked a cocky smile on his lips.

He waited, patiently, not feeling anything more than a steady buzz skittering over the lobes of his brain at first, but then power began colliding with itself, reverberating with greater force.

And it happened. A violent shift in his space, like a seizure coursing through the thin barriers between worlds, wrinkling invisible sheets and blurring vision as his eyes snapped open. He felt dizzy, stumbling sideways before the ferocity ceased and the apartment rippled slowly like the after effects of dropping a pebble into a pond.

What stood before him was shocking and unexpected, but utterly delicious in the complete poetry of its form.

The alarmed newcomer looked nervously about, tugging on the hem of his sweater and gnawing on a pink lip. Dull light from cheap apartment lamps glowed magically on the lenses of his glasses, creating soft shadows on pale flesh. Sylar noticed in the dim radiance that the man had bruises and cuts; tiny old scars littering his face and neck.

"Where am I? What happened? I was just…you-" His gaze settled cautiously on dark eyes.

As a plethora of possibilities established in the nook of Sylar's mind, the majority of which involved his lover Mohinder, Sylar nearly lost his manners.

"My, my, what a pleasant gift. Hello, Gabriel."

* * *

Mohinder was padding to the sink in his apartment, tea cup in hand, fully intent on retrieving another cup of liquid caffeine. He scratched sleepily at his side through a white wife beater, pajama bottoms shuffling on the floor. 

The kitchen was nearly in reach as he turned his head to an odd sound, taking in an even more suspicious sight, the following events happening too fast to comprehend.

A silver-tinted wall of tremor was shock waving towards him at a swift speed, jolting objects in its path and displacing them in an impossible way. Mohinder thought he must be going mad as he felt it slither over his skin, ice cold and agonizing in its wrath and determination to transform his apartment.

His eyes absolved from a blur of shock just as his shoulder met with something hard. Tea cup slipping from his grasp and shattering on the floor, Mohinder stumbled backwards from the impact, eyes widening at who he saw.

That face, it belonged to him. The same shape, similar head of curls but more carelessly grown. Familiar deep caramel skin tone, but haunted with excess stubble. His eyes were the same save for an intense sinister sparkle that sent chills through his spine. And that mouth, curled into a snarling shape that he'd never seen his own lips create before.

"What the fuck?" his mirror image queried, stepping towards him with a quirked head.

"Who…" Words escaped Mohinder as he stared into the eyes of his doppelganger, clad in a black wife beater and pajama pants to perfectly oppose his appearance.

"This is interesting." The mysterious man allowed a baleful grin; complete mal-intent showing through as he reached slim fingers up to stroke Mohinder's cheek. Frightened and dumbfounded he flinched away at the nails scratching his flesh, only to witness a snicker from his twin.

"No, no, no. Don't be afraid," the deeper voice cooed, smirk widening. "Let's play."

His throat was very parched, swallowing around a rigid lump of panic. Mohinder, in his sluggish reaction and calculation, never saw the dark fist coming from his side. An acute pain burst through his jaw, blood pooling in his cheek as he was suddenly looking up at his twin from the floor. The man crouched, an impossible look of amusement cursing his features as he ran a hand through Mohinder's curls.

"I'm curious. Do you scream like me?"

* * *

The taxi ride back into the city was painfully silent. Gabriel attempted the whole way to avert his eyes from those of the driver who, intrigued by the opposite twins, kept his own glued to the two men in the rear view. 

Sylar grinned at Gabriel's nervous twitches and shy head-bows. His hands were itching to explore that body; to examine similarities and differences in look and touch. He wondered if Gabriel had the same sensitive spots as him as he observed his twin running an index finger around the face of his watch.

"What brand?" Sylar finally broke the silence.

"W-what?" Gabriel jumped, startled, turning wide-eyed to him.

He couldn't help but chuckle.

"Your watch. What brand is it?"

A faint smile stole timid lips.

"Sylar."

Oh, the allure of this man was becoming too much to endure. Hearing his own name fall from such special, pure lips went straight to his groin. Was it wrong to want yourself so badly? To want to debauch yourself and just _feel_?

"I see." He slid over on the black leather of the cab seat, elating in the awkward shift that Gabriel displayed at their new proximity. Reaching out for that trembling wrist brought an even more pleasurable reaction; the prettiest mewl Sylar had ever heard, booming brashly through his senses thanks too heightened hearing.

They were now mere inches apart, heated breath on pale flesh.

"Do you like my name?" Sylar whispered teasingly into a familiar ear. There was a shaky, slow nod of a well-groomed head, his doppelganger not daring to speak.

"How did you get these?" He lathered his tongue rather unexpectedly over an old scar on a pale neck to try and coax more delicious noise from Gabriel. Sylar wanted something other than just a nod from this beautiful creature.

Gabriel's breathe hitched, white-knuckled fists balling on his lap as the wet trail dried and turned cold.

He would have taken it a step further had it not been for a foreign slew of gasping words from the front of the cab, accompanied by a panicked foot on the brake. Sylar slipped away, a faux tight-lipped grin of embarrassment creeping onto his face.

They were almost to Mohinder's anyways. He could wait.

* * *

Sylar lead Gabriel through the door, tugging lightly on his sweater when the man hesitated. They were met by a soft singing, the same Tamil tune he had been humming earlier that day. 

Mohinder stood at the kitchen sink, washing his skin leisurely, clothed in nothing but loosely hanging black boxers. A pair of his own, Sylar noticed.

"Mohinder, I want you to meet someone."

Not having heard them come in, he spun quickly, startled, and locked his eyes with the two men, a feral grin spreading at the vision of a carbon copy of his Gabriel.

"Sylar," he breathed, stalking over to them.

"No, this is Gabriel." Sylar ushered his doppelganger forwards, only to have the Indian push him away.

"I know who _he_ is, I'm more interested in _you_."

"What?" He didn't understand his lover's lack of interest in a gift from God – another pair of watch making hands, special in their own right, for the pair to explore. Something about him was off, though, and Sylar's mind raced to try and discern why his lover felt different.

"That's my Mohinder," Gabriel stated quietly, rubbing his chest where he'd been shoved.

"_Your _Mohinder?" Sylar didn't need an explanation, it was fairly apparent that this man wasn't his. Not only did he appear darker than the Mohinder he knew, but he had an essence around him that rolled off, a deep vibration on his skin that only a trained ear could pick up on.

And his voice – laced with a growl, the edges of his words spat with the same contempt he himself had often shown. This Mohinder was just like him. It clicked in his mind that his new ability had reached just a little further than expected, probably due to the fact that he had been thinking about his mate when trying to use it.

"For Christ's sake, Gabriel. I could have had some fun," Mohinder spat, shooting the timid twin a glare of disgust and warning. Sylar was amused by the display of dominance. Had it not been for the fact that he adored the way _his_ Indian crumbled so easily in the palm of his hand, he would have wanted to tear this man apart, inside and out.

"So where is _my_ Mohinder, then, Doctor?" Sylar nudged his head into a mocha hand that had at some point drifted upwards to touch his hair, a look of complete reverence on the face attached.

"Around." A smirk giving way to shock white teeth, something sparkling in dark eyes, caused Sylar to shiver. "And nobody calls me _Mohinder_. Well, except for my Gabriel… because I allow him that." He reached over to touch Gabriel's lips possessively before continuing. "In my world, it is Suresh. I am so respected and feared that they don't dare challenge me with a first name. Isn't that beautiful?"

Sylar was suddenly turned on by this struggle for power; a dominance to challenge his own. He'd often wondered what it would be like to fix Mohinder, to make him tick like he did. It was appealing to say the least, but as a threat lingered on dark lips the worry couldn't escape his mind – where had his lover gone?

"Interesting." He allowed Suresh the opportunity to touch and explore the carbon copy in front of him before growling his previous question. "Where is he?"

Suresh could feel the intensity in the words. He swallowed, and Sylar saw a twinge of fear that lit sparks behind both sets of dueling eyes.

Perfect. He was still feeble on some level, pliable and easily manipulated. A character trait that, so it would seem, was unsurpassable between parallel worlds.

"Does it matter? I can give you everything he can, and more." Eyes locked on Sylar's, Suresh reached for Gabriel's hand, taking it softly at first but then yanking him over and pushing the man down onto his knees with a whimper.

He stroked the meticulously combed hair lightly, offering something to Sylar that he never thought would be presented to him.

Leave it to Mohinder, evil or not, to tempt in such a way.

He was growing impatient, fear of the unknown creeping in as flashes of his lover torn, broken, bleeding – possibly dead - took over his brain. He grabbed Suresh by the arm, wrenching him closer with the repercussion of pain that brought a sickening joy to the Indian's face.

"I don't care about your whoring offers, I only care about him. Now, _wher__e __is __he_?"

"That's disgusting. You're weak in this world, just like Gabriel. You're pathetic, controlled by emotions. You've gone soft."

Annoyance got the better of Sylar. With a single flick of an index finger, Suresh flung across the room and landed with a satisfying smack in Mohinder's desk chair, rolling backwards with centrifugal force and hitting the wall.

Sylar rubbed his temples soothingly, attempting to sift through all three racing heart beats. He kept a steady telekinetic hold on Suresh, a faint noise from the bedroom growing louder as he stalked cautiously towards it.

A soft noise… faded …barely audible. The sound of fabric rubbing, a dull heartbeat in the mix.

He pried the stuck door open, shuddering at the sight of Mohinder on the bed, limbs tied to the posts with four of his own silk scarves, a fifth stuffed carelessly into his bruised mouth.

He was naked, save for barely a sliver of white sheet, blotchily stained with dark crimson and covering only his mid section. Mohinder was sleeping, but not on his own accord. The lacerations on his temples, forehead, cheeks, chest and limbs were telling in the abuse that had taken place.

A head of curls was rolling gently back and forth in his unconscious state, a movement that Sylar matched with the weak rubbing noise.

Sylar's eyes trickled out tears of rage and empathy as he sat on the bed next to Mohinder. He heard a worried voice from the other room, Gabriel's, speaking to his companion.

"What did you do?"

A strangled cry of pain answered the question as Sylar applied more telekinetic pressure to the invisible bonds holding Suresh. A simple warning of what was to come as retaliation.

He untied the scarves deftly, lowering sore arms to the bed with gentle care. The gag was removed, soaked with blood, and tossed away. Sylar ran is fingers over tainted flesh; purple, blue and stained; fury growing with each new whimper that escaped his distraught lover. He could only imagine what sort of terrible reverie was plaguing that usually peaceful mind. No more dreams of India, warm sand, or a lover's soft touch. It would take Sylar a long time to undo the damage done – to fix Mohinder and restore him back to his original trusting self.

"Gabriel," he called out into the other room, anger vibrating his voice. The watchmaker shuffled to the door, obedient to the call, and stood horrified for a moment at the work of a madman. His own flesh throbbed in sympathy where memories marked him of Suresh's desire to ruin.

"Clean him up," Sylar demanded, rising to face Gabriel with gritted teeth and a look of intent in his eyes. "Take care of him."

Gabriel nodded his understanding, trepidation shaking him to the core as he hurried into the bathroom to get a dampened washcloth, jogging back to take his twin's place on the bed.

Sylar strode into the room where Suresh sat grinning, licking dark lips to remind himself what his doppelganger tasted like.

"Think I've gone soft?" Sylar asked quietly, running his fingers over a mocha cheek and smearing remnants of Mohinder's blood. He was quivering with the intention to make the intruder _hurt_.

"Yes," Suresh stated firmly. Sylar couldn't help but wonder if this sick bastard was going to enjoy his punishment.

* * *

He was murmuring indecipherable words, vision coming back into play but masked with a throbbing headache. 

"Shhh," a soothing, familiar comfort. His face danced with waves of cold and he caught a glimpse of a wet cloth shifting over to his other cheek. "You're safe," that voice whispered.

"Sylar?" Mohinder's throat cracked, dry from not being used, as he blinked at the clearing visage of his lover. But this man was different.

"No." Soft lips met his, barely touching, ghosting to reassure Mohinder that he was alright. His shoulders throbbed, wrists ached, and images of what had happened to him oozed into his mind. He began to panic, trying to sit up but finding an unyielding yet tender hand on his chest.

Mohinder winced when fingertips unintentionally lay on a painful bruise.

"I'm Gabriel," He said, suddenly embarrassed at remembering he hadn't yet met this kinder version of his mate. "I'm here to take care of you."

"Where's Sylar?" Mohinder whined, bringing his fingers to an aching forehead. "You look…" His words trailed, too confused to form a coherent observation of why this man appeared to be his lover in well-kempt form.

Gabriel grappled for an explanation that wouldn't do any more harm to an already weary mind.

"I…I'm the man he used to be. I'm not going to hurt you."

"That man, he…he was…me. Was he me?" Panicked breath was escaping him now. This shouldn't have been so shocking to him. He'd seen a man fly; he'd seen a man time travel. He'd even seen a man heal from a deadly wound right before his eyes. Why was it so shocking that he'd just been violated in the worst way possible… by _himself_?

"He's gone. Sylar will be back soon. For now just, please, relax." Gabriel's nurturing side got the better of him as he crawled over Mohinder, coming to a rest at his side, and pulled the broken man up into his arms. "Relax."

Mohinder did as he was told, too frazzled mentally and physically to protest. The man's hold was comforting – identical to Sylar's but accompanied by an air of honest-to-God purity. He couldn't quite put his finger on the explanation.

"Where did you two come from?" He asked, releasing his rigid muscles and melting into Gabriel.

"A parallel world, I think. A lot different than this."

Mohinder was lulled by the steady rising and falling of a warm chest, a soft pumping heart invading his ear.

"I've seen stranger things," he chuckled, feeling the vibration from his own voice bounce through Gabriel's form. His eyes watered as a slight smile cracked open a cut on the corner of his mouth. "Do you like it here?"

Gabriel pondered for a moment. It was good here, quieter, and this Mohinder was a lot more pleasant than his. But that tiny part of him, the shadow in the back of his soul loved the way his Mohinder treated him. It gave him purpose, made him feel special, wanted, needed, desired. He'd never really stopped to think about why a piece of himself loved to be shattered in such a callous manner. Gabriel was embarrassed to even admit it. That space felt empty, void of what he craved and he suppressed a wave of jealousy towards Mohinder for getting what was his earlier that night.

"I…well its nice here, but there's something missing."

"I understand, Gabriel. I get it." He truly did. The things Sylar did to him were disturbing in their own right but they made him feel _complete_. Both men understood the perfect harmony, the balance that was occurring between their respective lives. And both wanted it to be restored as soon as Sylar was ready.

"I'm sorry he did that to you."

In the moment Mohinder savored the feeling of pliant, warm lips on his temple, knowing he may never feel their purity again.

* * *

"Tell me, Suresh. Exactly how well trained do you have our Gabriel?" Sylar accented his words with sharp thrusts into the gasping man. A shrill cry sounded as the name 'Gabriel' was pounded more forcefully. 

Sylar paused his ministrations to allow Suresh to speak, snapping his head back with a fist full of curls.

"Stroke a watchmaker's dick and you get him for a night. Stroke a watchmaker's ego and you get him for a lifetime," the evil Mohinder gasped, gathering himself before the inevitable hammering continued. "All I have to do is murmur a few choice words into the poor bastard's ear, and he falls to his knees."

Sylar slammed that head down enjoying the loud slap of skin on stone, thrusting in again with an angry growl at the thought of someone using his mirror image in such a way.

Suresh winced as the steady tempo of being jerked back and forth scraped his cheek on the rough cement. He was thankful that Sylar had brought him to the rooftop of the apartment building for the cool night air, but disapproved of being bent over the unforgiving rock ledge.

"You like this, don't you? Sick fuck."

"I'm fairly certain you like it too, Sylar," Suresh laughed menacingly, voice jarring each time the lean figure pounded into him. He clawed at the rough cement frantically as his comment caused Sylar to angle, going deeper, ripping and tearing in a searing hot pain that Gabriel had never supplied him with.

"Remember this," Sylar spat, melding his front to a sweaty back, his lips on a dark ear. "Remember it next time Gabriel is screwing you so lovingly that you wish you had me behind you to tear you apart!"

Suresh whimpered, snaking a hand from the ledge down to his own half-erection, desperate to get off on what he considered to be a complete violation of his power.

"I don't think so." Sylar quickly captured the limb, bringing it back to its previous spot and pinning both hands with the aid of invisible bonds. He wasn't about to let punishment turn into pleasure.

Suresh resorted to fixing his eyes on the city lights, but quickly became frustrated as they bounced and danced in dizzying circles with the relentless pounding.

"He liked it, you know," Suresh growled, hissing as the fingers on his hips dug in bruisingly hard. "He liked being cut and marked by me."

Sylar didn't want to hear it. He was tired of the mind games this all-too familiar personality was spitting out. He wasn't very fond of having his own tactics played against him.

Telekinetic hands flung Suresh away from the ledge and back to the rooftop door, sending the helpless body crashing onto sharp shards of gravel as it fell. He moaned, attempting to stand, but Sylar was there by his side in an instant, forcing him to stay on his hands and knees. Humiliation at it's finest.

"Do you like how that feels, cutting into your palms? Your knees?" Sylar snarled, positioning himself behind the trembling form and ramming back in. Suresh called out wildly as he scraped forwards against the harsh texture below him.

"Do you?" he questioned again, his hips rocking at the same speed as before. Sylar was close, so close; he just needed that simple defeat – the dominance that always got him off. He needed Suresh to crumble before him.

"No." It was a whisper, but Sylar heard it loud and clear. He hammered in a few more times, joying at the sight of bright red blood staining the gravel by caramel hands, and released with a gratifying shudder. This was something he could never bring himself to do to his fragile, beautiful Mohinder. So when the opportunity had presented itself, how could he refuse? Free reign to ruin the mirror image of an angel without repercussion? A deal worth taking.

Riding out the reverberating waves of pleasure, still inside the now sobbing Indian, Sylar exacted his last line of revenge.

He brandished his index finger like a well-sharpened knife and, taking his sweet time, carved a simple phrase into the golden skin of the man's lower back. Screams where his reward, Suresh unable to move as long, slow cuts had crimson blood dripping down his sides and staining the gravel.

"Property of Gabriel Gray," Sylar read aloud to himself, pleased and smirking at the canyons of ripped flesh that would scar and be quite the surprise for his twin.

Elating over the mental image of that face lighting up, he pulled out and stood up, jerking Suresh to his feet. The man was trembling, face smeared with tears. Sylar would have loved the display before him had Suresh not been the root of such pain and suffering a few floors below them… of someone that belonged to _him_.

"That truth stands for both worlds," Sylar asserted, bending down to pull his pants up. "Be good."

Sylar grinned as mocha fists balled in what he assumed to be embarrassment and defeat. That's what he would be feeling, after all.

He closed his eyes and urged the power to click on. This time was quicker – a flicker in his mind and a popping spark, tingling electricity dancing over his pale flesh. The force of the world shifting around him made his brow furrow with the concentration of holding the ability in play while staying on his feet.

A silent breeze brushed past his face after the cold slither of a barrier between worlds passed, taking the debauched beauty with it.

Sylar smiled at the dark world below the rooftop glimmering with the sparkle of a million multi-colored city lights. He made a promise to store that certain ability, at least until they were better prepared for the repercussions, turning on heel to check on his Mohinder.

Trotting down the steps, he had the heavy feeling in his gut of the repairs to come, listening to the confused voice of his lover call out for a Gabriel that had just disappeared from his arms.


End file.
